


Eureka

by devicing



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M, Multi, Post-Apocalypse, Sort of? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 09:45:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2187033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devicing/pseuds/devicing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Yes, he thinks, the feeling is something akin to petrichor. The earthy smell of rain after a long and arid drought.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A city falls and, years later, a group disbands. If change is coming, Kuroko will wait to see what form it takes. (AU one shots making up a larger plot with multiple pairings. More to be added later!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theme 1: Introductions

From his vantage point on the ground, Kuroko watched as the young man's shadow threw a dark black line across the crumbled sidewalks, wavering every time he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Muscles were drawn taut over shoulder blades and sweat rolled down the nape of his neck to the darkened collar of his faded red, sleeveless sports jersey. He cradled a scuffed-up plastic water bottle in his left hand and a rusted adjustable wrench in the right, and his arm flexed and strained beautifully with every twist of the tool. Before him the sun shimmered red and angry in the distance and the humidity seemed to make every breath a taxing effort, and yet there he was, crouched proudly on the rooftop-edge of an old high-school locker room with a beat-up solar panel and several dozen feet of worn out extension cords.

 

Kuroko stood there for what felt like ages, huddled in the cool shade cast from those broad shoulders and staring at the back and forth motion of the wrench. He startled himself when he managed to force out a hesitant, “Excuse me.”

 

The young man jolted, letting go of the water bottle, which hit the edge of the rooftop and fell to the ground where it rolled to a stop at Kuroko's feet. Kuroko bent down to pick it up, then gently brushed away the dirt that had crusted at the chewed up spout. When he looked up again, the young man had seated himself on the building's ledge with his legs hanging off of the side. His brow was furrowed in cautious annoyance as he looked Kuroko over. When he spoke, his voice rumbled deeply, with the faint scratchiness of someone who put too much effort and time into trying to maintain a callous persona. “What’s your deal, kid?"

 

"I apologize for surprising you," Kuroko replied. "I just wanted to know what you're doing up there." He gestured with the water bottle to the dark, reflective panel the young man had managed to affix to an old antenna pole. 

 

The young man cocked an eyebrow at him and slouched further down, folding at the waist to get a closer look at Kuroko. "What the hell does it look like I'm doing," he growled.

 

"It looks as though you're setting up a photovoltaic cell." 

 

Momentarily taken aback by Kuroko's assessment, the young man sat up again, chin tilted up haughtily. "You bet your ass I am," he crowed. 

 

Kuroko tilted his head to the side and regarded the young man for a moment before saying, "I'm sorry, but I find it hard to believe you actually expect that to work." Up on the roof, the young man sputtered angrily. Kuroko held up a placating hand. "Not that I don't find your charisma admirable, but there is very little chance that you'll be able to get something like that to function properly. Most of the units brought in from Ikebukuro are scams beyond repair, and no one I know has ever managed to get anything out of Chiyoda, much less transport it all the way here." He paused before adding, "I apologize for being so skeptical." 

 

With a low growl, the young man gripped the roof's edge below him and swung himself down to the ground, bending at the knees to lessen the impact. When he brought himself back to full height, he loomed a good head above Kuroko. They stood there with their eyes locked, warily scrutinizing each other before the young man reached between them and grabbed the water bottle from Kuroko's grip. He tipped his head back and took a large swig from the bottle, and when he brought his chin down again, a wide, feral grin had spread across his face. 

 

"Just got back from Azabu this morning. Took me all night to lug that thing here. Though it's a hell of a lot more efficient than the cheap amorphous silicon ones I set up two weeks ago." The redhead ran the back of his hand across his mouth to wipe away the excess water before he continued. "Kagami Taiga,” he stated bluntly, gesturing slightly with his hand. 

 

Kuroko blinked owlishly at the young man for a moment, his right hand coming up to cradle his chin before he said, "I suppose I was wrong, Kagami-san. I shouldn't judge based on appearances." 

 

As the young man barked out a retort, Kuroko felt his lips tip up at the corners. Something inside him thrummed with an unfamiliar excitement as Kagami fumed before him. Something foreign and yet familiar, something he had lost sight of several months ago. 

 

When he looked up at Kagami Taiga he saw hope, and that was equally as thrilling as it was terrifying.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theme 15: Seeking Solace

The blond who pulls back the curtain hanging in place of a door gives them a unimpressed once-over before saying, "I'm seriously going to kill you this time."

 

The boy at Midorima's side laughs brightly, but his white-knuckled fingers tremble where they are pulled taut in the fabric of the tourniquet wrapped around his left arm. He leans against Midorima slightly for balance—most likely due to minor hypovolemia, he notes—and he would push him away except for the fact that he needs the crutch the boy provides just as badly. "You know, it's funny because you're the second person who's said that to me today," he says. 

 

The blond huffs as he crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. "This is like the fourth time this month, Takao. I'm not letting you in."

 

Takao—Midorima vaguely remembers the boy mentioning his name earlier before nearly passing out in the alleyway. While the boy is still lacking color in his cheeks, the fact that he's mostly able to walk on his own two feet is a good sign. "Seriously? But I live here."

 

"I'm revoking your contract," the blond says curtly. 

 

"That's not even a thing," Takao groans. With a sharp intake of breath, he sets his right foot down firmly and pushes himself off of Midorima. He wobbles slightly when he stands on his own two feet but manages to spread his arms out in show. Midorima is only vaguely impressed. "Seriously, Miyaji, I'm fine. The bullet just grazed me. See?" At that Takao turns to face Midorima so his shoulder is in view for the blond. There's a trail of blood making a sluggish trail down to his fingertips, but the tourniquet tied tightly around his upper bicep stanches the flow to a minimum. The blood-stained 0.22 he has pinched between his thumb and index fingers glitters a bit in the light. “No fragments or anything. Sorry to burst your bubble, but I think I'll live. But, you know, that's not to say me and my friend here wouldn't turn down some real bandages and a couple pain killers." 

 

At that, the blond fully turns his gaze to Midorima. His brow is furrowed as he scrutinizes him, but it deepens further when his eyes trail over the sleek black gun holster that sticks out from under Midorima's armpit. "Well you're still debatable, but I'm sure as hell not taking this guy in," he spits. “You know our policy, Takao. He’s on his own.”

 

Takao blinks coyly, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. “You’re gonna leave Shin-chan here all alone on the streets?” Midorima bites his tongue and refrains from interrupting at the way the ridiculous nickname melts off of Takao's tongue with inappropriate familiarity. “I mean look at him! There’s no chance this guy is one of them, if the way the thugs chasing him down earlier is anything to go by." He pauses for a moment before grinning slyly and glancing up at Midorima from the corner of his eyes, "Unless you're secretly some runaway they're trying to keep from escaping. Did you steal something from them, Shin-chan? Are you a spy? Are you gonna sell us secret intel if we grill you hard enough?”

 

Midorima huffs and pushes his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "Absolutely not. Keep your ludicrous fantasies to yourself."

 

Takao's laugh is as grating to say the least. It barks out of him  in sharp bursts and echoes loudly off of the surrounding buildings. It's unbearably obnoxious, and yet refreshingly honest, in a way. For all his humor though, when Takao looks back at the blond in front of him, his grey eyes are sharp as steel. "I know what you're thinking and I'm not going to deny this guy had a part in it. But it was an accident and Shin-chan’s just as responsible for saving my ass as he is for getting it in trouble in the first place. So can you please just let us get to the back room before I bleed out all over the front step?" 

 

There's silence, but the blond man is unwavering in his resolve as he continues to stare Midorima down. Midorima is tempted to do the same, but after a moment he sighs and relinquishes his pride. Slowly letting the tension seep from his shoulders, he unclenches his fists where they hang at his sides and gives in to his submission. When he meets the blond's eyes again, the furrow in the blond’s brow has lessened slightly.

 

"Fine I'll let you both in," he says, "but he's got to do one thing for me before I let him anywhere near here.” His hand stretches out towards Midorima.

 

The blond doesn't even have to tell him what he's asking for. Midorima already knows what it is, and knows it's not an unreasonable request considering the circumstances. But the thought of removing the harness and relinquishing the pistol doesn't sit as well with him as he would have expected. It's not like he's particularly fond of the thing in any way, not any more than anything else he keeps on him these days. But he remembers what it's like to not have it on his person, to not have its security a heavy reminder pressed to his side. The streets are filled with people too lost to find reason without proper subjugation, and they are not meant for him. He was never one for unpredictability. Neither him nor Akashi. _This world is not fit for the rationalists, the planners,_ Akashi had simpered as he'd pressed the small revolver in his hand. No handgun in Tokyo has a pleasant background, and no matter how tempting it had been to press further Midorima knew not to ask questions with unsavory answers. One by one Akashi had closed his pianist fingers around its cold metal, all the while smiling that knowing smile of his, eyes catlike and gleaming. 

 

So it's not that the gun itself means anything entirely significant to him. It’s simply a crutch whose presence allows him a statistical advantage in hostile situations, and he is nothing if not a stickler for being adequately prepared.

 

And besides, it’s easier to rationalize with data than to admit the horrible truth that the monsters out there seem so much larger when one travels in solitude. 

 

He's stirred from his brief moment of reverie by a gentle jab in his side. Beside him, Takao smiles lazily (if not somewhat woozily) with his eyebrows raised in amusement. "Come on, Shin-chan," he says, fond amusement lacing his simpering smile, "I'm giving myself about 5 minutes before I collapse and I won't let you hear the end of it if I do." 

 

There's a moment's pause as something unspoken passes between the two of them. With lips set in a firm line, Midorima slowly slips his arms out from the straps of the harness and holds it out to the blond in the doorway, who takes it with mild disgust. Next, Midorima digs into the bag at his feet and produces a worn out box of bullets, also holding it out for the blond to inspect. Midorima knows that in the box there are exactly 6 rounds missing just as there is only one shell missing from the revolver, but if the other man notices anything he doesn't say. Instead, he mutters something under his breath and stalks back into the building, letting the curtain rustle behind him. 

 

Takao let's out a dramatic sigh when he does and uses his free hand to clap Midorima on the shoulder. "Glad that's over with. Hey I hope you know how to tie a sling because there's no possible way I'll be able to do that on my own." He chuckles as he coaxes Midorima through the doorway.

  
Then again, maybe he's not as alone as he makes himself out to be.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theme 23: Breaking Away

The first light of dawn is peaking out from behind thick summer rain clouds when Kuroko leaves. It’s the ninth day of June, according to his calculations, and the streets of Tokyo are steaming as the sun begins to bake the damp concrete. His sneakers are worn at the soles and squeak angrily against the asphalt. The humidity makes his clothes feel hot and heavy on his frame, but a light breeze that drifts through the streets soothes his flushed skin enough. 

 

None of the others had been awake. Not Kise who was tucked into the corner of the living room, curled over a child’s floor-cushion. Aomine had stayed silent from where he was sprawled comfortably across the musty sofa (having drawn the correct straw three nights in a row), and Murasakibara had still been lying stubbornly in protest at his feet, limbs folding out at odd angles in the cramped space. Not even Midorima—who even now continues to stubbornly maintain his own semblance of a daily routine—was awake to see him go. Even he had been resting peacefully while bent over an old med school textbook, glasses tucked in his hand and back arched gracefully in the pale light.

 

Akashi, however, is a light sleeper, and as Kuroko had softly pulled the door closed behind him he had burned the image of the redhead into his memory. Arms folded and poised, ever regal in his high-backed office chair with the morning sun at his back.

 

Now, several streets down from the abandoned apartment complex he’d called home, Kuroko can only just see the tip of the building’s useless satellite receiver. The towers surrounding him cover him in shadow and he slips into them like water. While some high-profile yankii still manage to roam the streets on stolen gasoline reserves during the day, for now the streets are empty. For now, Kuroko is finally alone in his person and his thoughts. The idea is as freeing as it is terrifying. 

 

The umbrella he carries is broken at two of the stretchers and his bag is light, but his chest feels weighted with something. Guilt? No, not that. And not anger either, but something similarly aching and visceral. Each intake of breath feels heavy and thick as it settles in his lungs, but every exhale is novel. Sun-soaked as it fades out and grounds itself in the earth. 

 

Yes, he thinks, the feeling is something akin to petrichor. The earthy smell of rain after a long and arid drought. 

  


**Author's Note:**

> So this has been a long-running AU idea I've had going through my head for a few years now and some things probably need clarifying before I get too far in. 
> 
> Based off of a list of 100 prompts, this AU will be a series of out-of-order one-shots making up a larger plot. In this universe, Japan went through an unspecified socio-economic crash approximately a decade prior to the story's main plot. While certain areas of the city (mostly the Minato Ward) have been kept in tact for the political figures who were expected to "rebuild" Tokyo, it's been years of hardly any progress and most of the citizens who live in the other wards of Tokyo have been forced to find their own means of survival. 
> 
> Also characters are aged up to their early 20s because 15/16 year olds trained in medical procedure/technical engineering are very unlikely.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/ConCrit and Kudos are always appreciated!


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